


Everything’s Faster when Standing Still

by silentflux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: spn_harlequin, Harlequin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflux/pseuds/silentflux





	Everything’s Faster when Standing Still

_**FIC: Everything's Faster when Standing Still for[](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_harlequin/profile)[ **spn_harlequin**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_harlequin/)**_  
 **Title:** Everything’s Faster when Standing Still

 **Author:** Andrea

 **Pairing/Characters:** John/Dean/Sam

 **Rating:** NC-17 or FRAO, whichever

 **Warnings:** Umm…slash? Does that count? ;) ... and incest, but not (see notes)

 **Prompt:** _The Maid and the Millionaire_

 _Anna Nowell loves her job-living rent-free in a fabulous mansion for an absentee landlord has perks she'd never imagined. But when her boss returns, her dream job is in jeopardy-unless Anna can convince him she's indispensable!_

 _Wealthy, cultured Donovan Barrett was a renowned physician until the tragic death of his son. Grief-stricken, he craves solitude. Consorting with the help isn't on his agenda, but Anna, with her compassion and laughter, has a way of changing all his plans and bringing him back to life when he thought he'd never love again….  
_

 **A/N:** Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_harlequin/profile)[**spn_harlequin**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_harlequin/)

This is written in the la, la land of my head where the three are unrelated… You’ll see. :D I followed the prompt kind of loosely, but… yeah. Still a harlequin novel in the making ;) And of course, I took liberties…lots of liberties - bastardizing the characters as I went. And my muse decided to play dead for quite a while so…yeah. That’s why even though it’s not as long as some of the other fics in the challenge, I’m still late. My bad. *kicks the muse* It’s my offering… and very possibly sucks. But thanks for taking a chance on it in advance ;)

Thanks to [](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/profile)[**freetodream5**](http://freetodream5.livejournal.com/) , [](http://hawk-dancing.livejournal.com/profile)[**hawk_dancing**](http://hawk-dancing.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sly-fuck.livejournal.com/profile)[**sly_fuck**](http://sly-fuck.livejournal.com/) for the encouragement. It was kinda sorta beta’d, but not really and all mistakes are mine.  
  


*~*~*

Dean wasn’t used to having anyone around anymore. After his last disaster of a relationship, he’d taken a job on the Winchester Estate, taking care of the numerous cars and doing different handiwork around the mansion. He was pretty much the groundskeeper and lived above the garage to stay close since the nearest town was almost an hour away. He was the only one of two who actually stayed there as the maids and gardener all came in once a week or so to make sure the house was in working order, even though the master of the house hadn’t been home in at least a year. The only other person who normally stayed on the grounds was Ellen, the cook and head of household. Tall, lean and whipcord strong, she was one of the most forthright and compassionate people he’d met. She’d interviewed and hired him for his position not more than eight months ago. He’d soon learned that she ran everything having to do with the estate to perfection, and still made sure to pester him about eating and taking care of himself. His sergeant would have appreciated her ability to get through to him, and he often frightened himself when he thought of what would happen if he ever swung by to visit like he’d threatened. Definitely needed to keep him away from Ellen, that was certain.

It made for the perfect job. John Winchester did have a hell of a car collection. Nothing particularly flashy, but several really great classics and a few everyday vehicles. It wasn’t exciting, but he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime in the Marines. He didn’t need exciting anymore, and he certainly didn’t want it. No, Dean was quite content hanging out here with plenty of beer and cars to work on – laid back and comfortable. His music blasting when he wanted and the peace and the quiet of the countryside when he needed it.

He had just finished a tune-up on the Impala and was digging the oil out from under his fingernails when he heard the garage doors open. This morning he wasn’t blaring his normal mix of hard rock and metal – his nerves just hadn’t felt up to it. He practically jumped out of his skin when he heard the clank and mechanical pull of the garage door. He hadn’t thought that Carl, the gardener, was going to be back for a few days, but he called out a greeting without turning around.

“Hey, Carl! Didn’t expect you back so soon. Did you bring the twenty you owe me?” he threw over his shoulder as he reached for the towel by the sink. Turning, he paused when he saw the man standing there. Eyebrow quirked, he took a moment to study the dark-haired man. Solid and scruffy, wearing worn jeans and a faded dress shirt, Dean’s eyes finally traveled up far enough to be trapped by piercing dark eyes. He felt his breath catch at the weight of that gaze. Finally, he found his voice. “Sorry, man. Thought you were someone else. Can I help you?”

In reality, Dean knew he should be demanding what a stranger was doing on this estate without permission, but his brain didn’t seem to be working at the proper speed. He stared back, feeling those eyes weigh and measure him, felt the tingle along his spine as he responded to that gaze and he snapped back the trickle of emotion he felt. Now was not the time.

“You’re Dean, right?” the man asked, his gravelly, low voice seemed to rub along the younger man’s skin sensuously, soothing his jangled nerves and the anxiety he’d woken up with. Dean suppressed the shiver and tried to look neutral. God, he hoped he looked neutral.

“Yeah,” he answered cautiously, his instincts finally kicking in as he automatically calculated the space between them and the possible objects he could use as weapons if need be. It disturbed him how quickly he’d fallen back on his training, but at that moment he didn’t dwell on it.

“I’m John Winchester.” The words flowed over and around him as Dean blinked stupidly at him. Taking a deep breath, he shook himself out of his reaction. It was inappropriate and he needed to get over it. Now.

“Oh.” Not the most astute thing to say. Wait. Did he just use the word astute when talking to himself? Shaking his head, he wiped his hands off and walked toward the man who was apparently his employer. Reaching out with his hand, he gasped almost inaudibly when the other man’s larger hand enveloped his with heat and weight. Oh. “Nice to meet you,” Dean forced out in a polite tone, forcing his startled reaction back as he looked up at the man with a smile. John’s smile was bright and wide and dimpled. This was definitely going to be complicated.

*~*~*

Dean finished up his afternoon and took the time to clean up. Ellen always expected that of him – to come to dinner in clean clothes and completely free of the oil and dirt that he usually accumulated during the day. By the time he had headed up to the mansion, he realized that he didn’t remember shaking John’s hand or greeting the other man properly even though he knew he must have done it. He barely remembered anything but the sound of that voice and the rasp of calluses over his skin when they had clasped hands. Obviously, he’d been struck blind, and possibly dumb. This did not bode well.

The unexpected encounter with his elusive boss had thrown his center off all day long. He didn’t know what exactly he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t him – John. When he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see three place settings. He shouldn’t have been. John hadn’t seemed like the dining room with servants type. Apparently, his brain no longer functioned. Great. Just great.

“Well? You gonna stand there all day or help me get the food on the table?” Ellen’s sharp teasing tone snapped him out of his reverie and he helped finish her dinner preparations, not even noticing how much the color of the table now reminded him of warm dark eyes.

He felt the heat of John behind him before he saw him, a large hand with slender fingers reaching around Dean’s body to get the salad bowls. The younger man started at the sight, the slide of skin against the soft cotton of his shirt, the heat radiating out from that one completely innocent touch caused him to stumble slightly back into the solid weight of the man behind him.

“Sorry,” John murmured in his ear, and Dean bit back the smart-ass remark itching to get past his lips as he tried to ignore the shiver down his spine. It had been a long time since someone could push him this far out of his comfort zone just by being there – just from one tiny touch. It was unnerving and made him want to lash out.

The dinner was mostly uneventful with Ellen prying details of the last year out of her employer and friend, even as her knowing gaze settled on Dean once too often, making the younger man shift uncomfortably. Most of it was things he already knew – the past ten years or so since John’s wife Mary had died, John had traveled the globe. Most recently he’d hooked up with Doctors without Borders and went places that Dean was glad he would never see. It seemed that John was every bit the doctor, not to mention risk taker.

The younger man had lost track of the actual conversation somewhere, the purring smoky tones of John’s voice at once settling and arousing his nerves. It was disturbing and relaxing and everything he’d forgotten about in the past couple of years.

“What about you, Dean?” Realizing the other man was addressing him, green eyes snapped up to be pinned down by dark brown. Raising his eyebrow in question, Dean refused to acknowledge how much the other man unnerved him. “Have you ever been out of the country?”

Dean felt the wave of familiar bitterness as he bit off the word, “Once.” It was flat and sharp and barred any further discussion just by the way it landed, a dead thud. He felt their eyes on him, and he cringed at the attention, a flush creeping up his neck as he already regretted his answer. He should have just lied and let the conversation move on. He’d never been very skilled at this polite chit-chat bullshit.

Ellen steered the conversation back toward John’s adventures, asking him about someone named Sam. Turned out that John Winchester has an apprentice of sorts or something. Dean listened to the amused affection in both their tones as they talked about the med student who’d latched on and was too stubborn to let go of John.

For the rest of the meal, Dean managed to keep his mouth shut more often than not and was proud that he didn’t say anything more that might be construed as hostile or rude. His mind was too busy shoving back the memories of war to even notice when dessert was served. Finally, dinner ended and he made his escape back to his apartment above the garage.

Flipping on the lamp near the doorway, he grabbed a cold beer from the small fridge, and popped it open, the bitter liquid bubbling and cheerfully mocking its way down his throat. As the four walls surrounded him, caging him, he found his feet taking him out to one of the smaller clearings in the extensive grounds that make up the Winchester Estate.

Stretching out on a soft patch of grass, he watched the stars – pinpoints of light that could still call up a sense of wonder in him. He often lay out and stared at the stars – some alive, some long dead – to remind himself that he is still capable of actual wide-eyed wonder. There was nothing better he could think of than a cold beer and a quiet night where his thoughts didn’t drive him insane. Star gazing always quieted the constant noise in his head, not that he would ever admit it out loud. Ever.

Dean heard the movement of the grass and various plants before he saw him. John apparently had a similar idea as the dark shape of the older man became visible. “Dean.” The greeting was soft and warm as the doctor settled into the grass himself. The quiet that resulted between them was comfortable. Or at least would have been, if Dean had been able to enjoy it, if John wasn’t so fucking disturbing to his equilibrium.

“I didn’t mean earlier –“ the words were finally forced out and broken off before they were finished.

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to pry.” John’s voice was soothing in the dark, floating on the cool night air with the scent of jasmine and freshly broken blades of grass, settling on his skin and sinking in.

“No, it’s just –“ Dean bit his lip. “I’ve only ever gone once. For the Marines.”

John nodded to himself in the darkness – he had suspected as much. From the way the other man held himself and certain mannerisms. He certainly recognized them since many of those traits were present in the mirror. “I was a Corpsman. Before becoming a doctor, I mean.” Dean made a quiet noise of agreement and that seemed to settle whatever awkwardness had lain between them, the soft silence wrapping itself around them once again as the sky watched over them both.

*~*~*

Dean came down for work a week or so later to find John in the garage, looking under the cars’ hoods. Rather than feel defensive, he smiled and waited patiently for the other man to register his presence.

John turned, a full open smile on his face and joy dancing in his eyes. “They’re in wonderful shape, Dean. Thank you.”

He felt the blush rise as heat shot through him at the sight of that smile – the smile that was just for him this time. He smirked in return, trying to cover his reaction. “I’m a pro, what do you want?” he teased before confessing, “It was fun. They’re beauties.”

John nodded his agreement, the look of pride on his face priceless. “My one true vice, I think.” His tone was bemused and Dean approached him slowly where he stood next to the workbench. And when John went back to his inspections, the younger man followed, answering questions about repairs or upgrades he had made while John had been absent until both their stomachs growled loudly.

“I think it’s time for lunch,” John said teasingly, turning his head to study the blond ducked under the hood of the Impala next to him.

“Hungry already?” Dean murmured, his voice teasing and low as he glanced over at the man radiating heat next to him. Dark eyes catching green, the younger man’s breath caught just above his heart as a shot of the purest desire fired through him. God, it had been a very long time since he’d had this feeling – that amazing warmth running through his veins, making him hyperaware. He had missed the recklessness and dizziness of it.

But this was John Winchester. His boss. Who was straight for all Dean knew. He needed to rein himself back, remember that he liked this job. No need to risk it on an impulse – he’d done that often enough when he was younger. Of course, the Marines had both helped and hindered his self-control in different areas. Time to remember why it was a good thing he wasn’t often truly attracted to someone. Flirt, yes. Actually feel this burning that could all too easily turn into need? No.

Exhaling a shaking breath, extremely conscious of how their breath mingled and tasting John’s scent in the air, he nodded dumbly and slowly backed away, skin flushed.

John’s eyes narrowed as he catalogued the reaction, his smile becoming predatory. Stalking toward the younger man, he crowded Dean’s personal space. All the Dean could do was watch himself be cornered as desire and lust churned together at the heat and promise in those eyes. It should be illegal for one man to exude so much sex appeal. He was so fucked.

Scrambling, Dean tried to defuse the charge in the air by backing up more, smirking cockily and patting his stomach, the hunger pains long since forgotten. But it was convenient. “Lunch?” He raised his eyebrow in question, challenge and warning before turning to head up to the house and raid Ellen’s fridge. The heat of John was never far behind.

*~*~*

They settled into something that could almost be considered a routine after that – both of them cautiously circling each other. John didn’t come down to the garage often since his research and business kept him in the study up at the main house. But they always ate with Ellen. And then, if it wasn’t raining, they always managed to find their way out into a clearing with cold beers and settle into the night together in contented silence and only stars to break the darkness.

Dean savored the other man’s presence, swearing that he could feel John’s heat from where he lay in the grass. The quiet companionship with no expectations and little awkwardness was more than he had been blessed with in a long time. He craved it. One night, John didn’t join him and Dean was thrown off for the entirety of the next day. It was disturbing how much that one activity had come to mean.

‘Thing is,’ Dean mused to himself one night after coming in from their nightly starlit vigil, ‘I want more than just this. And that is dangerous.’

*~*~*

Sam arrived in a flurry of luggage and books. It wasn’t more than a couple months after John had returned that Dean came up to the main house to see a rental car and a tall monstrosity of arms and legs and luggage and nothing else as it was impossible to see the man behind all that he was carrying.

“Need help?” he asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

“Why would I possibly need help?” had come the muffled reply from somewhere behind the dufflebag.

“Ah. Well then, I’m going to go back to my spa treatments. Yell if you need anything and I’ll be there in… thirty minutes,” Dean snarked back, reaching up to grab one of the bags to reveal a wide dimpled smile and sparkling eyes.

“Good to know. I’m Sam.”

“Dean.”

“Huh. So you’re that lazy mechanic taking care of John’s cars, huh?”

“…”

“Yeah. Grab the books in the trunk, too?” Sam managed to bat his eyelashes and somehow the statement came off as teasing instead of bitchy.

“Uh. No.” Dean smirked as he escorted the brown-haired man into the house and directing him to the room Ellen had prepared.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Harsh, dude.”

“Deserved.”

“Well. Yeah.”

*~*~*

After Sam’s arrival, nights in the field certainly got more interesting as the snarkfests reached new heights. Dean smiled to himself every time Sam scored a direct hit before he threw it back at him twice as hard. It was…fun. And it exasperated John to no end which was a reason to continue in and of itself. Not necessarily because he enjoyed it. Because he didn’t. Much.

*~*~*

It was midday and Dean had walked up to the main house to make sure Sam knew about the poker game with Ash and Carl and him this weekend. It would be nice to have a fourth that wasn’t Ellen. He had no idea how she did it, but she always seemed to walk away with all his money. One of these days he planned to pin her down and find out if she can count cards or something.

He walked in through the kitchen as usual and headed to the study which was where John and Sam usually did most of their work during the day. Turning the corner, he his feet stopped working as his heart lurched painfully in his chest.

Sam and John. Huh. Obviously. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

‘You didn’t want to,’ said the nasty voice in his head.

Feeling his hands shake, he shoved them in his pockets and stared as Sam did his damnedest to climb inside John through his mouth. The feelings of shock and anger, jealousy and want shot through him, twisting in his chest and knotting just under his breastbone until he felt he couldn’t breathe. The real surprise was when Dean realized he couldn’t tell which of them he was actually angry with or jealous of because he wanted. He wanted them both.

He must have made a sound because they looked up, surprise and a flash of guilt running over their faces, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. God. Muttering a hasty apology, he quickly backed up and blindly headed toward the garage. He wouldn’t let them see – he refused to make himself vulnerable to them.

“Dean!” Sam’s call rang out right before Dean heard the long strides of the gigantic legs hurriedly trying to catch up. A hand on his forearm made him flinch and he cursed himself when he saw the flash of hurt in the younger man’s eyes.

“Sorry, Sam. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Dean murmured, forcing his lips to quirk up in a suggestive curve.

“S’not a problem,” the younger man grinned, shrugging and trying to hide his uncertainty. “What did you need?”

“I just needed to talk to you about tonight.” Dean steeled himself, meeting hopeful eyes for a moment before averting his gaze as he killed that hope. “I’ve gotta go somewhere for the weekend, so I’ll have to do the raincheck thing.”

‘Liar,’ his conscience screeched at him.

“Oh.” The disappointment in that one syllable was palpable, and slid over Dean causing his jaw to tighten.

“Sorry, dude,” he forced out, gritting his teeth to keep control of his voice, distancing himself a bit.

“Raincheck, right?”

“Sure thing, Sam,” he answered automatically, the words sitting like ashes on his tongue. He had absolutely no intention of doing any such thing. “Raincheck. See you later, okay?”

Dean turned toward the garage and his motorcycle, ignoring the emptiness in his chest growing with every step, the yearning and need and the desperation at the thought of being without them. Even for just a couple of days. God, he was so fucked.

*~*~*

He returned with a shiner and bruises along his jaw, anger glittering in his eyes as he prowled around the estate, trying to settle.

He was a terse, broody, silent bastard and he knew it – hated it. And he loathed the fact that he was forcing his mood on John and Sam, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of it. That meant facing the fact that whatever it was he felt for them was not just friendship, and if they were together that meant there might be no place at all for him. It scared him – and the fact that he was afraid disturbed him even more. Not to mention the confusion. He had somehow come to need them, and an ache settled over his heart, making it hard to move and difficult to breathe.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed loudly, throwing another beer bottle at the wall for a satisfying crunch of breaking glass before the pieces joined others along the baseboard.

*~*~*

“John, you need to talk to him!” Ellen hissed, rehashing the argument they’d been having over this since Dean had gotten back to the estate.

“If he wants to talk, he will, Ellen,” John answered firmly, telling himself the uneasiness in his gut was definitely not fear.

“No, he won’t. He’s a stubborn cuss, and he hates being weak – kinda like someone else I know.”

“Ellen-“

“No, John. I don’t know exactly what you and Sam are playing at, but that boy’s obviously in pain. So. Go and *talk* to him!”

A movement at the door caught the doctor’s eye and he sighed heavily, calling out, “Dean.”

The younger man froze just as he was making his escape after overhearing the heated discussion. Biting his lip in nervousness, he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to look cornered.

Grabbing two beers, John led them onto the back patio near the pool. Watching the younger man take a long pull on the beer, he waited, studying Dean. The apprehension practically vibrated the air around him, and the doctor couldn’t help the impulse as he slowly approached, his hand reaching out and settling on a tense shoulder.

Dean’s head jerked up and green eyes swirling with anger and need stared at the older man. “Don’t.”

John’s stilled for a moment before asking, “What?”

“Just don’t, okay?” Dean wrenched his shoulder away, hand shaking as he set his beer bottle on the table and turned to go. John practically growled as he closed the distance between them, trapping the younger man against the side of the house.

“Where are you going?” The words were a rumble that shivered down Dean’s spine, breath ghosting over his face as he stared hopelessly up at the older man.

“Away. Just away.”

“No.” John leaned in, his body flush with Dean’s as he murmured against the younger man’s ear, “No. You can’t.”

A gasp escaped Dean as he turned his head away, plaintive words falling from him – hurried and loud and heavy. “What the fuck do you want from me, John?”

Shifting his body, sliding a leg between Dean’s, John tilted his head, lips brushing against one soft ear as his voice rumbled, “Everything.”

“I-“

“Dean,” he murmured, nipping along the straining tendons of his neck. “We want everything from you.”

Jerking as the words registered, Dean’s breath whooshed out of his lungs. “We?” The breathy tone and the need he tried to mask laid him bare before the older man.

“We,” John confirmed. “Come inside with me, to Sam. We’ll show you.”

“I-“ Dean’s body shook with indecision and desire – fight or flight. God, he wanted this. “You can’t want… Why would you?”

“Let me show you.” And with those words, the older man leaned in, pressing dry lips against Dean’s, tongue flicking out almost hesitantly.

Dean groaned and welcomed the other man inside, the tentative kiss soon becoming aggressive – heated. Tongues dueled and explored and stroked until he was forced to break away, panting for air. “Oh, God.”

“Come inside, Dean.” The voice from over John’s shoulder startled him and his head whipped up to see Sam pressing against John, the added weight pinning him even more effectively. “Please.”

“I-“

“Please.” The plea was almost inaudible before Sam leaned in and rested his forehead against Dean’s, their scent and breath mingling together until he was dizzy with it. Fire burned through him, itching along his skin, and he nodded.

The slow burning smile and the blinding dimpled grin required his own uncertain smirk as he took a shaky breath and followed them inside.

*~*~*

Sam grabbed them all another round of beers, and Dean was grateful, if for nothing else than the fact that he had something to do with his hands. His throat had gone dry as soon as they’d stepped into the seemingly harsh light of the kitchen. Clenching his jaw to keep himself from worrying at his lip, he waited, his free hand shoved into his pocket and clenched into a fist.

“Dean –“ Sam started, reaching out to try and calm him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked hoarsely, cursing the fact that his voice sounded so uncertain, shaky as he backed away from them both again. This – whatever it was – is not a good idea. Not at all. Not ever.

“We want you.” John’s statement was bald and matter-of-fact, and caused Dean to make a sound almost resembling a choked laugh.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” he finally managed to force out, green eyes darting between the two men in front of him as he tried to keep his breathing regular. “I – I’m not some fucking toy.” The words were harsh and angry, speaking of some past hurt that the other two refused to speculate on at the moment. There was too much else at stake right here in front of them.

“And we’re not talking about that, Dean. You’re – “ Sam bit his lip, knowing he’d get a ribbing for these words later – ‘I’m not a fucking girl, Sammy.’ “You’ve become so important to us, Dean. Please.”

“Important?” Dean felt himself parrot back, wanting to smack himself for sounding so damned hopeful.

“We love you, you fucking idiot!” Sam finally exploded, his exasperation and worry forcing the words out in an uncomfortably loud rush. Everyone in the room froze. Dean felt the cold beer bottle sweat beneath his tense fingers, Sam hunched his shoulders waiting for rejection, and John had settled a hand on Sam’s hip, stroking it to try and maintain both of their calms.

Both men stared at Dean, waiting and hoping. Dean felt like his brain was working at zero capacity – he tried to push his way through the sluggishness of disbelief and anger and hurt and hope. God, hope was a killer. Finally, he truly registered Sam’s tone and his words, and a small chuckle escaped him.

“What, you couldn’t buy me flowers and candy like a normal emo boy, Sammy?” Dean teased awkwardly, seeing John relax his shoulders as his lips twitched at Dean’s words.

Sam’s took in a ragged breath before muttering, “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” It took all of two seconds before Dean had made it across the room to them, standing uncertainly, not touching. His cocky words belied the nervousness and insecurity that his body radiated.

“C’mere,” John murmured, and reached out at the same time both of them leaned and for that moment inside their arms, Dean knew everything would work out. It had to – he refused any other possibility. This place had become his home, and he wasn’t letting go of it or the two people that had become so vital to stop him from fading – keep him alive.

*~*~*

Epilogue:

Dean stretched and yawned, t-shirt riding up to reveal skin that was quickly covered by a large, callused hand. His whole body went still with surprise and a flash a fear before the previous night’s events came rushing back. They wanted – loved him. Happiness fluttered around the tension in his chest, threatening to undo a lifetime’s ache and desire. Rubbing his hand over that familiar ache that was slowly melting away, he arched his back to press into the solid body behind him. “Morning.”

His eyes had barely fluttered open before his mouth was possessed by Sam’s, a broken groan escaping his throat as he was pressed even further back into John as the other man scooted closer.

“Morning,” John’s sleepy drawl in his ear scratched along his spine and Dean sighed into Sam as John pulled him back, hips tight against his. Moaning at the erection pressed along his ass through the thin cotton boxers, Dean tried his damnedest not to squirm as strong fingers held his hips still. “Where do you think you’re going?” The sleepy command and soft growl raked along his skin which broke out in goosebumps as Sam finally moved from swollen lips to nipping along the sensitive skin beneath his jaw. Dean’s choked gasping filled the room with sound as the hand on his hip slid teasingly under the waistband of his boxers.

“Please.” He was mortified that he could be reduced to this so quickly. Or he would be mortified. Later. When his higher brain function wasn’t shorting out.

“Please what?” Sam’s voice was a lazy caress, lips brushing against the juncture of shoulder and neck.

“I –“ That’s all he got out before he felt his boxers pulled down and away and he was pressed against two very naked, solid bodies of his new lovers. “Please.”

Dean felt the smile against his neck as John’s stubble scraped against soft skin, the calluses of his fingers as they traced his hipbones, the softer and longer fingers of Sam as they rested over both their hips, and he whimpered, twisting his body to find more friction, more touch. Anything.

“Beg so pretty,” came the rumbled praise behind him and Dean whined, pushing his hips forward, seeking friction against Sam.

“Impatient.” Sam’s voice sounded far away for some reason, and suddenly Dean knew why as his cock was engulfed in hot, tight heat.

“Oh, God. Fuck, Sam…Please.” All there was were dirty words and nasty, wet sounds that made Dean squirm against the urge to thrust before he froze. That was – when had John gotten lube?

Two slick fingers were easing inside him, feeling so much bigger than anything else. Sam had reached up, pulling one of Dean’s legs to rest on his shoulder as his hands wandered, one cupping his balls and stroking the sensitive skin just behind. Green eyes opened wide and sightless, Dean could no longer find any words – needy sounds falling on panted breath and tripping over swollen lips. Closer and closer to the edge – God please, need – and then they pulled him back. Whining low in his throat, he writhed first forward and then back, trying to find something. A choking noise and a loud groan and hitching breath were all that accompanied the burn of John’s cock pushing in, filling him until he didn’t think he could take anymore.

And Dean became nothing except his body – the scrape of nails, the burn along his skin, the stretch and the slick and the permanent catch in his breath right next to his heart. Broken moans and needy whimpers and the slap of skin on skin as lightening shoots up his spine and jerks through his shaking body.

Finally – too soon, God, need more – Dean felt the bright hot pleasure twist and struggle and thrust itself down, pushing at his skin until he was screaming his release as it poured down Sam’s throat. Panting for air, on the edge of hysteria, he savored the soothing touches of John’s strong hands as the older man shuddered out his own release with a long, heart-felt groan, splashing hot and messy inside him. Trembling with the aftershocks, Sam milked him, moaning his own release, and continued to suck until Dean made an almost pained whimper. Letting go and climbing up strong limbs, Sam reached out to cradle both his lovers.

Surrounded by John and Sam, Dean floated – safe, cherished, loved. And he will swear whatever oaths are needed afterward that he did not cuddle. Not at all. Never. Dean is not a cuddler.

“Stop thinking and go back to sleep,” Sam murmured, yawning wide against the other man’s neck, hands sweeping over Dean and John in reassuring random patterns.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Sleep,” came the amused, gravelly tone. Both of them smiled and allowed themselves to fall into a languid doze with John watching over them.

The End…

*~*~*

A/N: Yes, the epilogue was a gratuitous porn. Also, it was my first stab at a threesome scene. Let me know what you think. ;)  



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